The Apprentice and the Shaking Gun
by Dawn Totadile
Summary: This is years after Basil and Dawson have become a team and Basil's mysterious apprentice, Adiem, the Black Detective, has returned for a visit. Something's up though and even with her special abilities, she doesn't think she's ready to be called a detective just yet. Warning, character death, blood, and pain, all in Adiem's point of view.


I put on my hat, tucked in my hair, and adjusted my coat. It was a cold November evening, and I felt something was off. I hadn't felt this cold since the case of the Assassin Academy. I shiver as I recall having a gun on hand during the majority of that case, and what I had nearly done with that gun. I hate guns. I hear my mentor call out from below. We're off on a fresh lead to Professor Rattigan's whereabouts. It will be just me, Doctor Dawson, and my mentor, Basil Baker. Basil and Dawson carry a pistol each, while I only have my slingshot. I will admit, I can handle a gun, but I never wanted to. Guns are for killing when in my paws. I check my crooked tail and smirk. I always thought it was cool, mainly because of how good it was at picking locks. I don't even have to concentrate for it to do that.

We made our way down to the sewers where the professor is supposedly hiding, that fiend. What I didn't expect was that he'd be alone, and that he'd look like a mad man, or rat, rather. He's holding a gun up and I don't need to be a full-fledged detective to figure out who it is pointed at. "Stay where you are or the boy dies first, Basil of Baker Street." His usually suave voice is filled with malice and sounds like a low growl.

Basil bite his lip, unsure of what to do now. Dawson glances at me with fear. I just shiver as I hear a voice in my head whisper, "Someone will die tonight…" I would swear it was death himself if I believed in such things.

I don't like being a bargaining chip as Rattigan lined up his sights with my mentor's head. I still have my slingshot at hand, the one weapon he never seems to notice. I let out a small pebble as a ricochet shot bounces around the sewer walls, hoping with all my heart that I won't fail. It hit its mark upon Rattigan's paw, knocking the gun from his paw. We split up as he growls in pain.

I feel a sharp pain in my side, suddenly. I was too slow. Rattigan bats me against the sewer wall. He keeps slashing at me, making me bleed, scarring me for life in more ways than one. Sounds blur as I hear someone call out to me. I think its Basil. Suddenly, Rattigan stops slashing at me and starts towards my mentor. I manage to get up in time to nearly be knocked back down by Basil's limp body being thrown at me. I can't help but gasp and scream. I look up from the broken and beaten form and looked in horror at what was in front of me.

The monster grabbing the doctor's throat, trying to choke the life out of him. The detective unconscious, battered, beaten, and bruised at my feet. Blood stains my shoes along with the sewer water. I see a glint of steel. The monster's red eyes glow as he laughs. I tremble as I pick up the pistol. I haven't held a gun in years. I had hoped to not touch one again in my life.

"Let him go, you rat!" The monster glares. He hates being called rat. He drops the doctor who gasps for breath.

"What did you call me?" He growls.

"A rat! That's what you are!" My tail whips the ground behind me, hitting dirty water. It stings.

The monster charges towards me and my mentor. Hot tears run down my face. I pull the trigger. A single bullet hole in his head appears. The momentum from the gun knocks me back. My hat falls off my head, my blonde ponytail falls out. The monster's last expression is that of confusion and anger. Everyone thought he'd die by my master's paws, not mine. He thought that he'd kill us. I couldn't let him.

The blood that seems to fly reminds me of my injuries as I fall into the blackness of the water and pain. I never thought I'd die in London, especially its sewers. I let out a nervous chuckle. The ground rushes up to catch me. My mentor's gun is now on the ground next to my deerstalker hat. My magnifying glass is cracked on the stony floor near my feet. The last thing I hear is the doctor's voice calling out to me and my mentor. The darkness was always my friend, even if I didn't always understand. My old friend now catches me, covering me up, promising my light to another day. Heh, my light… my name is light... Conserving my soul for another adventure. I just hope my mentor doesn't mind losing both foe and apprentice in one night... Sorry, Basil…

I feel the coldness surrounding me, the sounds battering me with insults and pity. One voice, faint as it sounds, encourages me, telling someone that I'm not like the others, and that it's good. I feel empty, like I'm falling through the sky and pushing against water, but it won't let me swim. I feel heavy, like I'm carrying the weight of the world upon my shoulders. I see a spark. The faint voice keeps calling to me, desperately it cries out to me, "Keep fighting it! You're tougher than that!" and "Don't let go! Keep hanging in there!"

I want to call back and laugh at it. I want to say, "I'm not going down so easily." and yet, I am. I am falling, falling because of a few scars and scratches. I am falling down and down because I wasn't quick enough to move out of the way of the fight. I was never any good in a fight I guess. I am falling because I couldn't do anything. I hate being useless.

A weaker voice calls out, different from the other. This one seems desperate as well. It keeps apologizing, goodness knows why. I'm the one who failed, and yet he keeps crying out what a failure he is. I want to comfort him, and yet I don't know how. I want to stop their crying, to make those voices laugh and smile. I lift my leadened arms and reach up, trying to grab at anything to help me out of here. I can't stand unhappy people. I don't like misery, I don't like sad endings. I refuse to stay in the dark. I open my mouth, hoping to shout. No sound escapes my lips. Silver wisps streak across my vision. I don't want to die. I don't want to be alone forever.

The voice! The weaker one keeps muttering, but it's getting louder! It burns! My wounds burn as though being coated in fire. I want to wake up, I want to scream! I want to cry out for the pain to stop. I want to stop the muttering, the pain, and the darkness from surrounding me. Lights flash before my eyes, and yet, I know they are closed. I don't understand. A lot of the pain is gone, but why? What just happened? It was so fast. What was that? Time? Was that the change of time?

I feel heavy. I struggle to open my eyelids for the first time in who knows how long. Everything is blurry. It's still dark where I am, but its light enough for me to tell that I'm not in the sewers anymore. Am I in the morgue? A hospital? I try and lift my head, only to find it's heavier than a medicine ball. Why are those called "Medicine Balls" anyway? I look around at what I'm able to, mainly the ceiling and the side of the couch that I'm obviously laying on. I can't feel anything but a numb stinging pain throughout my body. I feel contempt for myself. I think that's the word. I hate myself at the very least. I'm so bloody useless. So useless…

I can feel my open mouth dripping with drool, which means that my mouth was left open for too long. Everything is still fuzzy, so I have to assume that my glasses are somewhere else as well. The couch I'm on has at least some sort of doily on it, and it's green. I notice a low glow start up from my left. I'm in front of a fire. My forehead feels like it's burning while the rest of me feels cold. My eyes close once more as I feel gravity's pull, dragging me further into the couch.

A shock, like electricity, goes through me as something cool touches my brow. I manage to open my eyes and stare into the tear filled emerald eyes of my mentor. His fur is still pale, but it has more life in it then when I last saw him, and the soft glow of the fire shows me the worry wrinkles near his eyes. I try to smile. I'm not sure if it works. He gives me a small smile, as though trying to reassure me. "Rest now. You did good." Those few simple words bring relief to me. I let my left eye droop lazily down as my right struggles to stay open.

"Has she awakened?" I sigh in relief again. Doctor Dawson's voice sounds strong as ever.

"Barely. You sure she'll be alright?"

"As sure of her as I am of you, and you're fine."

"Yes, but she's..." Basil looks to me, remembering that I'm awake. How long have I been down?

The darkness takes me over again, forcing me to rest. When I awake again, it is still dark, and the fire is still roaring. I manage to sit up this time. My side hurts, but I've felt worse. It feels like someone stabbed me, but that's probably just Rattigan's claw marks still in my side. I check my tail, still crooked, still there. I tap my ears. Still big, still round. I look around for my glasses, not finding them upon my face. A blurry paw appears with my spectacles. I weakly move my paw towards it, taking the fragile bits of wire and glass.

As I place them upon my face, I notice that I have a visitor. Vole looks at me with sadness in his grey eyes, but still a glint of anger. "You could have died." The first words out of his mouth and they had to annoy me.

I open my mouth to speak back and manage to reply through dry lips, "We all could have, Inspector."

He hands me a small glass of water, which I gratefully accept. "You didn't though… I misjudged you… I'm sorry."

I feel the lead return to my head, but manage to sit back against the couch. "I'm sorry for scaring everyone." The silence in the room is broken only by the crackling remains of the fire nearby.

"You shouldn't be though. You were just trying to do what was right." His glare softens but fills with fear again. I sigh. I know what he's going to say now. I can read it in his eyes. "You're a girl…"

Those three words. They bring so much confusion into this world, and so much hatred. This is the nineteenth century. Girls aren't appreciated here. I'm one of the few who fight that. I'm not like the others. I'm a different kind of girl.

"Never stopped me before." I bite my lip, old habit, still bad. I don't want him angry with me, but I just killed someone, and he just found out that I'm a female. How blasphemous, or however that goes. "Are you going to arrest me?"

Vole looks at me incredulously, as though I should be at a professional doctor's office rather than in Baker Street. Mind you, he probably had that thought come first when I was found, but still. "Why would you think that?"

"Vole… I killed someone, Inspector…" My voice is so small, so cracked, so weak, I can barely recognize it. "... Inspector, I shot him… I shot and killed Professor Rattigan… one shot through the head… One bloody hole… and it's my fault…" I feel tears run down my face, hot, burning, stinging. "It's all my fault…"

He tenderly places a paw on my shoulder, as though I'm made out of glass and he's afraid I'll break. "You were defending yourself and others, young lady. I don't think that warrants an arrest . . . you do need **_bedrest_** though." He chuckles as he gently pushes me back into a laying down position. I wince at a pain in my back. Vole doesn't notice. He's good, but only Basil is that good. "I'll get Doctor Dawson to check you over while I find Basil. They've been worried about you."

"I shouldn't have killed him though…"

"It couldn't be helped. Get some rest. You need to be back on your feet. Basil needs you to keep a clear head when he can't you know." He chuckles lightly while I just manage a grimace. Basil can get so absorbed in a case he often forgets physical needs.

"Alright, Inspector Vole…" The world feels heavy and dark again, as sleep overtakes me once more. The last thing I feel is the removing of my glasses.

When my eyes open once more, it is lighter, as though its dawn. I sit up slowly, careful not to move so fast that I get dizzy again. I look around and notice a small glass of water and a small pitcher next to it. I smile. I weakly grab the water with both hands and put the cup to my snout. I sniff it, trying to see if it's drugged. It's a habit. Satisfied that no one is trying to poison me, I sip the water slowly. I look around, hoping to spot a familiar face. I sigh in relief as I place my glasses back on my snout and spot Basil, sleeping in his favorite chair, as usual.

Basil looks worn, tired, and thinner than usual. I can hardly believe that he's still in one piece after the beating he took. I can't help but smirk. He almost looks peaceful while asleep. I take notice of his outfit, a spare of his original deerstalker and coat. I can barely see where he was wounded. I take a look over myself. My hair is down, my arms are fine, but I'm wearing a nightgown, which suggests that Ms. Judson, the landlady, changed my outfit. I place a paw tenderly under the gown and feel the bandage that's wrapped around my torso. I can't help but wince and cry out silent tears once more. It stings. I accidently let out a hiss.

Basil notices. Basil always notices. He jolts up as though shocked by lightning. I let out another huff of a laugh. My ribs still hurt… or at least something in my chest does. Basil looks towards me with shock on his face and relief in his eyes. I can hardly believe how well he looks. I saw him bleeding and practically broken at my feet. He walks towards me slowly, as though afraid I'm not real. I can't help but smirk. "Guess I slept in, eh, Bas?" He grimaces and chuckles. I'm the only one who's able to get away with calling him that, and I'm probably the only one to even try.

Basil ruffles my hair, like he did when I was a kid. Call me crazy, but it always made me feel better. "More like you went into a coma, Adam." I was annoyed at first when Vole had addressed me like that, especially when I had introduced myself as "A.D.M." (Adiem), but after a while, when even Basil started calling me it, I let it go. It fits me anyway.

I look up to the ceiling and take a deep breath. "A coma, huh?" I will admit my voice is still shaking. "How long has it been?"

I'm afraid of the answer. "Not as long as we thought it would be. It's only been a week and a half. Vole was betting on a year while Dawson said you'd make it in a month." I can't help but smile. He's starting to take on my American accent.

"What did you bet?" I love the smirk he gives me. It's a mix between "Did you really doubt me?" and "Are you serious?"

"I bet you would awaken in another week. You woke up two days ago and then went back to sleep, and Vole says he talked to you last night."

"Yeah, not someone I want to talk to when I wake up. He's too optimistic." We both laugh at my sarcastic comment. Vole's one of the most pessimistic rodents I know.

I lie back on the couch as the sun sets once more. Basil and Dawson have assured me that they're both alright and quite proud of me. Vole has voiced his complaints on a girl detective, but he promises to keep it in the yard as long as possible. We each have something on that bet. Vole's betting his favorite hat on ten years. Doctor Dawson's betting his best umbrella on one year. Basil's betting on six months with buying me a new magnifying glass and giving me chemistry lessons. As for me, well, he he, I've got my bets on this story being in the paper by the end of the week and forgotten to be news by next month when we figure out how to fool the press. What did I bet? Ha, I bet to be the inspector's assistant for a week, Doctor Dawson's nurse in training for the week after that, and for Bas? I bet him that if I lost, I'd buy his pipe some new tobacco. I hate tobacco, so expensive and disgusting, heh. I have a feeling that I'm going to collect though. After all, in a game of chance, I'm a lucky little mouse. I am the Great Mouse Detective's apprentice, and only I have that claim, even with a shaking gun...


End file.
